


I Love That You Love Me (Even If It's Overwhelming)

by peanutbutterpianist



Series: Firsts Are Complicated (Should They Be?) [8]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Emotional Constipation, Firsts, Fluff, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Angst, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Dancing, Victor's Potty Mouth, White Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterpianist/pseuds/peanutbutterpianist
Summary: Victor is sure he's probably read about White Day before, when he'd been obsessively researching Japanese culture...but Yuuri had never mentioned it, so it probably wasn't a big deal.Yuuri does, in fact, have a couple of surprises in store for the holiday.





	I Love That You Love Me (Even If It's Overwhelming)

**Author's Note:**

> By request: a First White Day fic (?). Hmm...something about this feels more like a proposal to me. I'll let y'all judge that. Enjoy, lovelies--thank you for all the great feedback!
> 
> Emotional Victor is my aesthetic.
> 
> This is a companion piece to Today is For Lovers.

            It was March fourteenth—a normal practice day. A normal morning filled with Yurio’s taunts and obscenities and Georgi’s wails of distress and Yakov threatening to retire for the twelfth time that month.

            Nothing out of the ordinary.

            Well, except when it came to Yuuri, apparently. Something was up with Victor’s wonderful, precious, _dear_ fiancé, and it was driving him _up the wall_ inside, even as he tried to draw a calming breath while reaching for his toes in a stretch.

            Yuuri had admittedly been a _tiny_ bit distant the past couple of days: not asking for post-dinner cuddles on the couch _quite_ as much as usual, disappearing to other parts of the rink or the locker room or the apartment for little five- or ten-minute spells with no real explanation for what he was _doing_ there…

            It was kind of unnerving—okay, _really_ unnerving, honestly. Yuuri had been a little bit like this last month, in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. Of course the young man’s nerves had been _completely_ unwarranted because Yuuri being _Yuuri_ , he’d somehow made _handmade chocolates_ in the dead of night, shaped like perfect hearts and _poodles_. _Poodles!_ Victor’s storebought variety and stereotypical red roses could hardly compete, really, though Yuuri still repeatedly claimed he’d been outdone.

            _Psh._ As if.

            But then again, Yuuri was _Yuuri_ so…

_Sigh._

            Regardless, Valentines Day was now eleven months away, and both of their birthdays were a long way off, too.

            And they hadn’t fought super-recently.

            And Victor hadn’t botched any chores lately.

            And Yuuri’s anxiety wasn’t particularly bothering him this week, according to the younger man and frankly, it was getting harder for anxiety to slink around unnoticed these days. Which was good! Victor would surely know if something _serious_ was going on, between sharing a bed and Yuuri allowing more and more casual touching each day.

            Victor leaned over the wall at the edge of the rink, brooding, as he watched over his pupil. It was just about time to pack up and go home. Maybe he should just _ask_ if something was up.

            Yeah. Yeah, that was a good idea.

 

            Of course Victor forgot to bring the matter up in the locker room, caught off guard by just how _tight_ Yuuri’s heather grey briefs were as headed to the showers. He’d _almost_ remembered as he waited in the locker room, flipping through Instagram, but then Yuuri wandered vaguely his direction, having forgotten his glasses somewhere, and _good God almighty,_ the man’s hipbones were peeking out from where his towel was wrapped loosely, barely concealing his manhoo— _nope_ , not entertaining _that_ thought. Not while Victor was still in the _expensive, tight-_ tight workout pants that he’d bought in Geneva last year.

And then, when they walked home from having dinner out—Yuuri had insisted on it, which was also kind of odd, and had also _insisted on paying for them both_ which hadn’t happened since January—Victor _tried_ to remember to ask. _But_.

            But well, Yuuri was being so _distracting_. He kept flushing and fidgeting and looking down at his feet and then looking _up_ at Victor from under his _unfairly_ gorgeous lashes and—

            Well, the view was too adorable and the conversation was too pleasant and Victor’s insides felt too warm and so of _course_ he forgot to ask if anything was up.

            And then, Yuuri reached for _his_ hand when they walked Makkachin later.

            Ooh. _Ooh._

            Eh, what was the use of prying? Things were obviously fine. _Better than fine_.

 _Mmm_. Yes. Very, _very_ fine.

 

Victor kept restraining the urge to giggle as he showered once they’d returned home. He half-sang instead, and accidentally bumped his hipbone into the cold water knob—maybe dancing around in the shower wasn’t the best idea, but _whatever_. It was _fun,_ damn it.

            Yuuri caught him as he was exiting the bathroom, Victor’s head still in a towel and a song halfway on his lips.

            “Um, Victor, would you come with me for a second?” He guided the elder male into their bedroom, looking rather like a hamster outside of its cage for the first time. _Cute._

            Of course, Victor went without a fuss. “What is it, Yuuri? Is everything okay?” _Ah,_ there; he actually remembered to ask. Finally!

            “Hmm? Oh, yes!” Yuuri seemed distracted, or…

            Wait, no. Nervous. _Nervous?_ Nervous, definitely nervous. But _why_?

            “Victor, um, what do you know about White Day?”

            “Hmm…does it have something to do with polar bears or something?” Victor winked, and was rewarded with a loose laugh bubbling out from his fiancé’s tense frame.

            Of course, he’d read a little bit about Japanese holidays online last summer, but Yuuri didn’t need to know that, and admittedly, it _had_ been awhile.

            “No, silly!” Yuuri sat on the bed roughly, still chuckling, and invited Victor over with a gentle pat on the comforter. “White Day is…well, it’s a big deal in Japan. At least for young people.”  
            “Oh?” Victor settled beside him, slipping an arm around his back. Yuuri was tense, but he still leaned into the touch, which was reassuring. “Okay, enlighten me, _lyubov_. Please?”

            Yuuri shot him a shy smile, fingering the edge of his sweatshirt—a nervous tick of his that Victor had only recently started noticing. He pulled his fiancé against his side, hoping to be encouraging somehow.

            “Well, White Day comes a month after Valentine’s Day. So, you know, on Valentine’s Day, girls usually give chocolate to their friends, and special chocolate to boys they like and…well, White Day is the chance for the boys to tell the girl they got chocolate from that they reciprocate their feelings by outdoing them. They usually get her a present or something. It was a pretty big deal when I was in school back home.” He reached to scritch at the back of his neck with a soft, helpless sort of huff.

            “Ah, okay. I see. That sounds nice,” Victor commented, voice light and neutral, rubbing circles with his thumb into Yuuri’s side.

            “Mmhmm.” Yuuri dropped his head down. “So, I figured that you probably don’t celebrate it, but I wanted to do something special for you for White Day anyway—”

            “Oh, Yuuri! That’s so sweet!”

            The Japanese skater snorted and softly bopped Victor’s knee with a fist. “Don’t interrupt me, you dork.” He knocked their heads together just enough for Victor to feel the _thunk_ of bone-on-bone.

            “Okay, okay, sorry.” _Totally not sorry_. Yuuri was adorable when he laughed like that, after all.

            “Anyway,” he continued, “I couldn’t really think of anything to _get_ you, persay, so…well…”

            “…Well?” Victor pressed, as gently as he could, yet grinning all the while with anticipation.

            “Um, see, I guess I decided that I wanted to do something _with_ you instead, so, um…but…” He wrung his hands together before looking up, eyes a little wild. “I’m still going to give you something first, and I want you to read all of it.”

            Victor tilted his head to one side. _Read?_ “Okay, sure.”

            “I-In here. I want you to read it in here. I have to go set up something in the living room, so give me some time to do that, please?” Yuuri took a long, shaky breath, and Victor felt a rush of pride sweep through his bones. _So brave, dorogoy_.

            “Of course. How long do you need?”

            “Um, maybe five or ten minutes or so?”

            Victor patted the Japanese skater’s knee gently, just twice before lingering, fingers finding purchase on the bumps and dips there. “Alright; how about I wait five minutes, and then I’ll read whatever you have for me?”

            Yuuri’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “Yeah…yeah, okay, that works. Thank-you.” He stood up with a tiny smile, padded to the dresser, and ruffled around the bottom drawer, where his spare undershirts, older ties, and boxers were kept. _Clever hiding place_ , Victor noted, seeing as neither of them frequented that drawer.

            When Yuuri returned, he was holding a sealed envelope to his chest and seemingly studying the grain of the wood floor like a textbook. Victor wondered _what on earth_ was in that envelope. He knew better than to assume anything _bad_ —yes, he knew better, much, _much_ better than that—but he still felt a little queasy when Yuuri didn’t just hand it over, or even thrust it at him with a flustered _here_.

            Instead, Yuuri reached for Victor’s hands and pressed the envelope into them so, _so_ carefully. He looked like he wanted to say something _so badly_ , _so desperately,_ but apparently decided against it in favor of leaning over to plant a chaste kiss to Victor’s cheek, mouthing a soundless, English _thank-you_ against his skin before disappearing through the doorway. He shut the door behind himself, and Victor listened to the patter of irregular footfalls as he skittered down the hall.

            Victor first thought that he should check in on some social media or pull up his neglected email account, or maybe even text Chris. But right now… _well_.

            Now he just sat back down on the edge of the bed, running a fingertip along the edge of the envelope, which was clean and unaddressed. He glanced up at the clock on their nightstand from time to time.

            Maybe it was…

            _Hmm._ Adoption papers for a new dog? That would be pretty fantastic! Victor _was_ going a little puppy-crazy this month, admittedly.

Except that they both knew that, for the time being, Makkachin deserved their undivided attention. And they were busy enough with Victor’s comeback anyway.

            So maybe…plane tickets to Tokyo? Victor still hadn’t _really_ been yet, not as a true tourist, for _fun,_ and he wanted Yuuri to take him _so_ badly!

But then again, they didn’t really have time right now for any sort of travel; Victor was struggling enough with re-conditioning— _ugh_ , he didn’t need to be reminded of that. He couldn’t take breaks: Yakov would kill him in at least twenty different ways.

            Victor looked up and saw that it had actually been _six_ minutes, and had to stop himself from tearing into the envelope in his excited haste because _wait_ —

            Good or bad, this was _important_ , wasn’t it? Yuuri had been acting like his very _soul_ was sealed up in this envelope.

            So Victor handled it like a precious icon in a church, instead; like an original copy of the Septuagint, trying not to tear the envelope as he opened it.

            Oh. It was a letter, written rather neatly in… _pen?_

Yuuri usually wrote everything—grocery lists, sticky notes, ideas for routines—in pencil, too afraid of making any mistakes, well, _permanent_.

            And his penmanship was remarkably _good,_ too. Not shaky, but velvety-smooth and a little florid, especially his cursive _n_ _’s_ and _s_ _’s_ and _d_ _’s_.

            Victor’s heart did a little backflip, sloshing around with his other innards helplessly. He mouthed the words to himself as he read.

            “Dear Victor,

Happy White Day! I wish I could say all of this out loud. Can I tell you a story? It’s short, I promise.”

Victor was already grinning from ear to ear, so wide that it almost hurt. _Tell me as long of a story as you want, lyubov._

“When I was a kid, I remember asking Mom what made her relationship with Dad different from her relationship with anyone else. We don’t talk about love very much in my family, not in the sense of saying ‘I love you’ all the time or anything, at least. You know, it was kind of weird watching American romance movies for the first time with Phichit when I was in Detroit. It’s so different, I guess.”

 _Oh. Hadn_ _’t thought of that._ Victor crossed his legs, shifting on the bed a few times. _Not that I had expected him to say it all the time, but_ _…okay. Okay._

“But anyway, I didn’t understand how she could say that she loved Minako-sensei, who she’d grown up with, and that she loved her family, but she also loved my dad. Because I knew that all those loves had to be different, right? I had asked if she felt the same about everyone. She said no—that feelings did have something to do with it, because she felt something very strong for dad, but also felt very strongly about Minako-sensei and about Mari and me, because she loves us, too. But that they were all different flavors of love. Kind of like flavors of ice cream.

            That’s when I started to think that love has to do with feelings, but that that’s not all there is to it. Because love, to my family and so, to me, too, is also a choice. My mom made a choice to marry my dad, and that something about that choice made her love for him different than her love for me. She loves her family because she is our mom, but she chose my dad. So I think that kind of love something you decide on, and a promise you make to somebody, even if they never know about it. But I want you to know, so that even though I’m not very good at saying it out loud, you’ll understand what I mean.”

            Victor remembered once telling Yuuri to just _go with your feelings_ ; he remembered pressing Yuuri to label their relationship pretty early on, long before the Cup of China, and feeling nothing but a low ache when the younger man had spluttered and let himself be distracted the sudden appearance of the Nishigori triplets.

 _Yuuri? Yuuri, what?_ Victor shuffled the next page to the front of the stack, fumbling with the paper a bit.

            “I know this is probably kind of silly, since I should just try to say all this to your face, but I don’t know if I actually could. I’d probably mess something up or chicken out or…I don’t know. So please, bear with me? If you can hang in there for a bit, it’ll be worth it in the end. I think. I hope? Maybe? Well, just tell me later.”

            _Oh, sweetheart. Of course._

            “Thanks for meeting me where I am. I really glad you’ve read this far already.”

            Victor made a mental note to try address whatever was making his fiancé so hesitant, and to do it _soon_.

            “When I say that I love you, I’m promising a few things.

            I promise that I’ll care for your body as well as I care for my own.

            Wait, no. We both know I don’t always do a good job of that.”

            Victor shouldn’t have chuckled at that; he knew it. But…well Yuuri was kind of _right_ about that.

            “So then, I promise to care for your body better than I care for my own. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of when you’re sick, or when you get hurt or overwork yourself. I hope you won’t ever take my help as…I don’t know, condescending or anything. I just worry about you a lot, and when you’re hurting, it hurts me, too. And I don’t really know what to do to make things better, except make tea and hover around. Sorry about that. I’m trying, so please be patient.”

            Victor felt his jaw clenching because _What the hell? You do a wonderful job of taking care of me! You do so much more than make tea. I_ _’ve never felt more loved than when you just lay down with me and put a jar of peanut butter between us when I_ _’m too sore to get up and actually do anything._ He shook his head. _Good God, Yuuri_ _…_

            “I promise to defend you: your reputation, your feelings, your body. I won’t let anyone get to you without going through me first. And I'll try to protect you from myself, too: from stupid words and anxiety and all the hurtful things I don't mean to say or don't realize are hurtful. I'll be careful so that you'll always be safe with me.

            I’ll do everything in my power to take care of you—of your body, your heart, the head on your shoulders too. Anything you’re willing to trust me with. I want to understand you, but even when I can’t, I want you to know that I will always respect and support and accept you for who you are. With all your quirks and everything that you being you entails. And by the way, you’re much more wonderful and charming to me than I think that you think that you are. Did that make any sense? Whatever, just be you.”

            Victor’s throat closed. _Oh._ He rubbed at the back of his neck absently. That was…not exactly _cute_ , and not exactly _hot,_ either, but something else, maybe?

            “I promise to listen and be there for you, no matter what. I want to be the shoulder you can lean on, literally and not. I want everything you have to say, anything on your mind or weighing on your heart. Past, present, future—it doesn’t matter. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me, too.”

            Victor gripped the fabric of his pajama bottoms in a tight fist.

            “I promise to never let you feel like you’re alone. Loneliness is an awful, god-forsaken noose. I know it all too well, and I won’t let you hang by it. Ever. If you ever feel like I’m not there enough for you, tell me. Please. I’m not always good at reading people, even you. I don’t want you to feel lonely. Ever.

            Speaking of feelings, I promise that I’ll make sure you feel loved, because it’s one thing to know something and another thing completely to feel it and believe. I might need help with this one, too, from time to time. But please. You’re the most important person in the whole world to me, and you should be sure of that all the time. If you ever doubt that, I’m obviously not doing my job well enough.”

            _Stop. Just stop. I can_ _’t take it._

            “I promise to always have my arms open to you. That’s a hard one, sometimes, because I’m really not used to that sort of thing. But you know, it’s easier with you.” – _Easier?_ –“Easier than I thought it ever could be, even in some alternate universe where I’m somehow brave, and I’m all touchy and affectionate with my friends and family, and I’m more of an open book and my anxiety doesn’t stop me in my tracks and keep me away from things that actually make me happy…yeah, cause that’s not this world, obviously. But it’s easy to hold you, even when it’s not, because…actually, I don’t really know why, really. I just like keeping you close. Maybe it’s selfish. I don’t know. But if you want a hug (I think you usually do, right?), I’ll keep trying to take you in. I’m always more than happy to hold you. Okay?”

            When had the room gotten so small? Where did all the air go? _Shit._

            “I promise to be honest. I promise to be open, to be as vulnerable to you as you are to me. Even more so. Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m afraid to. You know, I’m so scared, all the time, that one day it’ll be too much after all, but I’m getting better at saying that I trust you and actually meaning it and backing it up. So this is going to be a hard promise to keep, and I’m really sorry about that in advance. But I am trying, and I hope you won’t feel bad about calling me out on it sometimes. You have the right to know what’s going on, and I want you to have full access to my heart, too.”

            _God, Yuuri_ _…_

            “I promise to put you and your well-being and the state of your heart above anything else, even myself. Mom always said that was the most important part of loving someone, because anything less is selfish and isn’t love at all. She said that if I remember to do this one thing, that most everything else would basically fall into place. I hope she’s right. I think she is.”

 _Damn. I_ _’m getting the paper all wet. Shit._ Victor laughed to himself with a sardonic grumble. _Good thing it's in ink._

            “That’s what ‘I love you’ means to me, I think. So every time I say it, these sort of things are what I’m promising you. And _vice versa_ , too; I’m not too good at saying things like this aloud, so I hope you’ll remember that when I do these sort of things, that I’m trying to say that I love you.”

            _Damn it. Stop shaking. I have to stop shaking. What the hell is wrong with me?_

            “I understand if this all is too much, or too fast, or maybe not what you wanted in the first place. But if you’re okay with this, please meet me in the living room when you finish reading this.

            If it’s not okay, that’s fine too. Just…I don’t know, you can go to bed or something and I’ll understand and we don’t even have to talk about any of this. I actually would rather we not talk about it, really. It would be nice to save some of my dignity if I can, you know? We can just forget about all of this.”

            _Oh, hell no. No, no, NO. Don_ _’t you dare. Don_ _’t you dare think I_ _’d just leave your heart out of the equation. You ridiculous, selfless little katsudon. God_ _…_

            “I’m looking forward to your response. I’d choose you any day, and I love you.

            Sincerely,

            Katsuki Yuuri _”_

            Victor wanted to compose himself, to cease his heaving, tight-throated pants and wheezes, to quit _crying_ (or at dry his face off and stop that _awful_ sniffling), and maybe _just maybe_ get the thing throbbing annoyingly in his chest to settle down into a stable rhythm for more than three seconds at a time. He wanted to go back to being _Victor_ _Nikiforov_ , not some quivering fawn facing down the business end of a rifle.

            But wait. Wait, _wait._

_Wait._

Did he _actually_ want to compose himself? Didn’t Yuuri deserve to know what he’d _done_ to Victor? Didn’t Yuuri deserve to know what a _big deal_ Victor _knew_ this was? How much Victor _needed_ those words, without even _knowing_ he’d needed them before, but _dear God_ , now they were water to the Sahara. Hot wine in the dead of winter. The kiss of a soulmate after ten lifetimes apart.

He felt like a mess, at the mercy of such words. It wasn’t _fair._ Dammit, it wasn’t _fair_ , was it? _Was it?_ To be reduced to such a _fucking_ _mess?_

            Was there anywhere in the world better for all of this _mess_ to be than at Yuuri’s side?

            _Okay._ That was it. _Enough_. Go. Go, _go, GO._

            Victor practically tore the bedroom door off its hinges, his bare feet barely finding purchase on the floor as he careened into the living room.

            He could hardly see, his vision was so clouded with fat, obnoxious tears that he couldn’t care less about.

            Actually, no, _no, wait;_ he was _damn proud_ of those tears, all of a sudden. He wanted to scream _look what you did to me, Yuuri, you_ _’re so perfect, God I love you so fucking much_ but he suddenly couldn’t move, frozen beside the couch. He stood there, still save for the chaos in his chest and the rivers cutting paths down his cheeks, staring at his fiancé. Yuuri was seated on the couch but quickly getting up, sallow face drawn in raw concern.

            Yuuri was dressed in a pair of his best slacks and a crisp white cotton button-down. His hair was combed back but not gelled-slick, and his collar was adorned with a _very_ cleanly arranged black silk bowtie. His hands were quivering as he reached up to brush Victor’s cheeks dry—was Yuuri _afraid?_ Oh _God_ that’s right, Victor had just _run_ into the room, a crying mess, without a word, _oh shit_ —but Yuuri smiled nonetheless, a fragile, breathtaking smile.

            _Oh_. That smile. _That smile._

            It called to something deep in Victor’s gut, tugging on whatever strings were lying limp in his heart till they were tight enough to _sing_ when touched—a psaltery of blood and tears and emotions he couldn’t wrap his tongue around.

            “Yuuri, I—” Victor swallowed, his throat filled to bursting with salty molasses. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk. He wanted to bundle the smaller male up, tuck him into his chest, just _hold him there_ until the world faded into nothing and they were all that was left of the universe.

            Yuuri stepped a little closer, leaning in for an anaconda-tight hug. “Was it okay? Are you okay with it?” He sounded very, very small, and yet…

            Very, _very_ sure.

            _Wow._

            Or maybe _not-wow_ because, well. Yuuri had really put a lot of thought into that letter, hadn’t he? He’d decided on something and once Yuuri decides on something, he was—

            He becomes some unstoppable force of nature, honestly. A bull. A bear. A typhoon. An earthquake. A thunderclap. A _seductress_.

            Victor shivered. _It_ was coming, wasn’t it? Say the word, and everything would stop. He knew it. Yuuri would let him leave, none worse for wear, and Yuuri would retreat into the soft quietness of his own nervous, fragile heart. But let him press on, and the world itself would surely crumble before the sheer force of his bared soul, of his unyielding _will_.

            It shouldn’t have been so surprising. It kind of wasn’t, except that it was.

Yuuri’s face nuzzled somewhere along Victor’s pectorals, with all the tender ferocity of a storm surge wound up in that caress. The motion trapped the Russian, held him fast where he stood.

            Not that Victor would really _want_ to escape, would he?

            Not when that very storm _saved_ him, brought him back to life in a drunken flash little more than a year ago. Brought him back to life a little more with every crash of its waves and beat of salty rain on his stumbling self.

            “It’s more than okay,” Victor murmured finally into Yuuri’s dark hair, sinking into the light blanket of cologne that prickled deep in his lungs pleasantly. “Your love is the best, most perfect thing I think anyone has ever given me.” At least his breath was coming back, as his hands found purchase on the plains of Yuuri’s sleek back, though words still felt awkward in his mouth. “Can you hear that?” he whispered, hushed, like a secret.

            Yuuri hummed, low with understanding, from within his arms, and tightened his grip around Victor’s middle. He looked up, eyes dark as espresso beans and glimmering with some sort of foreign fire. “Are you okay?”

            The Russian managed a smile. “Mmhmm. Yeah. I was just thinking…” He scrunched up the fabric of Yuuri’s shirt along his right shoulder blade. Yuuri waited. “I was thinking, well, at first I thought _wow, what a mess,_ because, well this all feels really strange. You know?” Victor squeezed him against his chest. “But now, I think—I think my heart’s pounding because of how happy I am. Does that make any sense?”

            A sharp gasp drew Victor’s attention down to Yuuri, who suddenly pressed his face into the Russian’s shoulder… _laughing_.

_What?_

            “Y-Yuuri?” Victor felt something in his gut drop a little. “Why are you laughing at me?”

            “I’m—I’m not! Not— _hee!_ —laughing _at_ you!” Yuuri squeaked out, pulling away just far enough for Victor to see the broad, warm grin caressing his face and the almost fluorescent flush on the peaks of his cheeks. “It’s just—well, I remember thinking exactly the same thing when you’d first shown up in Hasetsu last year.”

            “W-What? _Really?_ ” Victor felt the wind getting knocked out of him, but he also knew that his lips were curling up, too.

            “Yeah.” Yuuri slid a hand up into Victor’s hair, scritching at the nape of his neck, and returned to where he’d been nestled against the older man’s chest. “You were sleeping just across the hall from my room and…it had been all so surreal, you know. But it suddenly hit me that you were _actually here_ and instead of just being flustered about it, I felt…really _happy_. I didn’t even know why. I think I do now, maybe.”

            “Oh?”

            “Because I finally got to meet Victor the person, not _Victor_ _Nikiforov_ the figure skating genius. _Victor,_ who fell asleep on the _floor_ , cuddling his dog and muttering strange things I didn’t understand…I think I probably started falling for you, right then.” Yuuri was still smiling, though shyly so.

            Victor felt his heart stumbling again, and Yuuri chuckled against the collar of his shirt, running a curious finger up and down the line of his ribs.

            “Victor,” he said, suddenly sounding _very_ serious, and the Russian hummed dizzily in acknowledgment. “I have one last thing to give you—or maybe, I guess it’s something I want _from_ you, really.” He stepped back, and Victor watched, puzzled, as he smoothed out his shirt, fixed his tie a tad bit obsessively, and turned away toward the stereo, clicking a few buttons until the sounds of a softly tinkling piano grabbed his attention.

            Well, the music held his focus for about half a second, until Yuuri promptly returned to drop to a knee, one hand held behind his back and the other extended up toward Victor’s own, which were both dangling, limp and useless, at his sides. Yuuri looked like the dictionary definition of a _perfect gentleman_ and he stole away every atom of oxygen in Victor’s fuzzy chest with the gesture.

            “ _Victor_ _Nikiforov_.” His voice was quiet but _so_ solid, so steady and _ah_ , here came the storm. Victor knew it was coming, and _here_ it finally was. Yuuri shook his dark-haired head, resetting himself with a huff and a coy sort of smirk.

_Oh._

“Victoru,” he began instead, “May I have this dance?”

            Victor didn’t know how his left hand had ended up on his lips, trying to stifle whatever noises threatened to come out, but he had enough clarity of mind to nod like his life depended on it.

            It felt like Sochi. It felt like Barcelona.

            It felt foreign and terrifying and _absolutely amazing_ , watching the shine in Yuuri’s eyes from behind his glasses.

            Yuuri was on his feet in a flash, snatching both of Victor’s hands, moving one to rest on his own shoulder and tangling the other with his own. He leaned in to sneak in two lightening-quick kisses: one to Victor’s lips and the other to the center of his chest. Both felt nothing short of electric, bringing him back to the present with a _crack_ and a _crash_ and all the tingling heat that should come with being electrocuted in the middle of a thunderstorm.

            It felt remarkably like…like _home_.

            Victor took a deep breath, and let himself be swept along.

            Two steps to the right, a squeeze to his waist, a step backwards, a turn that pulled him flush against a warm, slightly shorter body. A hand slithering along his chest, another turn, back to their starting position. Two steps to the right, one back, a hand cradling his lower back.

            Yuuri started murmuring something, low and quiet, and Victor realized belatedly that he was singing along to the melody they moved to. Victor’s entire chest wound itself up like a music box, taking in every word so much more carefully, soaking it in like a sponge.

            _Oh, this man._

Victor let himself be swayed, back and forth, like the push-pull of the tide by the inescapable tug of the moon’s twilight song. He let himself be dipped so low his hair was probably brushing the floor, but there was no way— _no way_ —that Yuuri would ever— _ever_ —drop him. He could feel it in his bones as Yuuri watched him, in the surety of the grip of warm hands at his back and waist, in the steady, hot puff of breath on the column of his neck as Yuuri buried his face there for a moment to hum something into the gushing of Victor’s pulse.

            Was the room spinning? Not in a bad way, but still. _Woah._

            The song ended all too soon, the room going quiet again save for the rush of Victor’s pulse in his ears; but alas, Yuuri kept them moving, smooth and easy, to that beat instead.

            “You know, I’ve wanted to do this since—” Yuuri whispered, stopping himself, sounding like he’d bit his tongue. His steps faltered for a split second.

            “Since…?” Victor prompted, not quite breathless but nowhere near calm. He was going to die. He was going to die in bliss any moment, because how long could a mere mortal keep pace with all this? _Ha!_ There could be far worse ways to go, though. _No complaints here._

            Yuuri was quiet for a moment. “I had wanted to do something like this back in Barcelona,” he confessed, and Victor caught the tips of his ears turning strawberry-red. “The banquet was nice and all, especially since I was sober that time,” he added, smirking wickedly for half a second, “but I…I really had just wanted to get you alone for a dance like this.” He laughed, bashful and self-deprecating and _ah_ , the tide was starting to recede. “It’s probably silly and a little selfish for a White Day present, but I hope this was okay. I mean—”

            “It’s not silly.” Yuuri looked up, startled, at that. “And it’s not selfish. And it’s very okay.” Victor tried on a soft smile, but it felt wobbly. “I think this is the most wonderful, romantic thing anyone could ever do. Has ever done, in all of history, actually.” He winked, but it felt a little awkward, so he dropped whatever face he was making quickly, sighing instead. “I don’t know how on earth I could possibly deserve any of this.”

            “Easy,” Yuuri slid in before Victor could laugh at himself, brown eyes bright and sharp. _Oh_. So it _wasn_ _’t_ over; they’d just wandered into the _eye_ of the hurricane. They’d stopped moving—when had that happened?—and now Yuuri’s arms were just settled quietly at Victor’s waist, warm and so ridiculously _tender_ that the touch alone threatened to draw tears from whatever well should’ve run dry by now all over again. “You’re _you_ and I think you’re _wonderful_. You deserve to be loved, even if you _are_ a bit of a dork.” He winked, running a hand up Victor’s pajama shirt.

            _Mmm._ That felt good, in more ways than just one. “But I’m _your_ dork, aren’t I?” Victor tried to play along. He really did.

            He didn’t mean to start crying again. He really didn’t.

            _Damn it._

            Maybe he could salvage this—his dignity, his, _his_ _…whatever-ness_. The thing that let him use actual words and be _cool_ again. _Cool? Who says cool anymore? Damn it._ Maybe he could just—ah, there was ‘something in his eye’, or—

            “Yes. Yes, you absolutely are, if you want to be.” Yuuri was serious. So very serious, with his hand splayed out over Victor’s collarbones and his breath mingling with Victor’s own. _God_ , it felt intimate.

            He was waiting for the word. For a sign. _Keep_ _going_ , or _retreat_. It was all within Victor’s power, the Russian realized with start, because Yuuri— _oh duh, of course, silly Katsudon_ —had essentially placed his heart in Victor’s hands with a litany of promises, with more love and devotion than was probably alive in all the churches in St. Petersburg combined and—

            And Victor could either be _suave_ and try to save face, or make the trade a little more equal.

            Not that his heart was anything _remotely_ like Yuuri’s, he knew. But, he could try? _Maybe?_ Yuuri wanted him, didn’t he? That was the whole point, right? Yuuri loved him, somehow: body, mind, and soul. He’d said as much. Right? Yuuri had pledged Victor _everything_. So Yuuri wanted Victor’s heart, too, didn’t he?

            It was only fair.

Mess and all? Quirks and all? Childish ramblings and heated outbursts and stupid fears and all?

Everything? Was that… _okay?_ Was that a fair trade?

It didn’t really seem like it, in Victor’s opinion.

            Yuuri, amazingly, was still waiting, patient and steady even as Victor wondered how much longer his own, aching knees would hold up. The younger man’s eyes were soft: coffee with milk, their body-warm bedsheets in the middle of the night, strong arms and quiet heartbeats and secret kisses in back alleys and Victor finding himself waking up in bed when he was sure he’d collapsed on the couch the night before and—

            _Ah. Okay._

            “Yes,” he finally whispered. It was too quiet, he knew it, but _damn_ , this was _hard_.

            “Hmm?” Yuuri edged closer, blinking twice. Just waiting. No pressure. No expectations. Which might have stung if Victor let himself dwell on that thought for more than a moment.

            “I said,” he coughed softly, “yes. Yes, I absolutely want to be your dork. I’m all yours. I want everything you want to give me.” He swallowed. “And I love you, too.”

            It was nowhere near the first time Victor had said the words, but Yuuri looked like he’d just seen an angel in the flesh.

            They just stared at each other for a while, Victor’s breath coming heavy and realizing belatedly that they had somehow moved to slump on the floor, Yuuri supporting most of his weight with a firm hold as he knelt.

            He hoped that Yuuri understood. Understood that _he_ understood the gravity of Yuuri’s love, which was frankly…a little intimidating because—

Well.

            Could Victor do all those things in return?

Was he expected to?

            Looking down into Yuuri’s big, cocoa-and-coffee eyes— _no_. Yuuri didn’t expect a thing out of him except to be—

            To be _himself_. To be Victor. And to let Yuuri love him the way Yuuri wanted to.

 _Okay._ He could do that.

            No, _no,_ more than that. He could _love_ Yuuri, too. Hell, he already _did_. And he would for a very, very long time, he was sure of it. Forever, if Yuuri would be okay with that.

            Something in Yuuri’s eyes told him that, _yeah, he_ _’d be okay with that._

            Victor felt himself smiling, wide and giddy, as Yuuri kissed him. Someone’s heart thrummed like the rumble of thunder, like an earthquake coursing through the both of them, and Victor’s breath was completely swept away along with any coherent thought.

            He was deep underwater, surely; caught up in the wind, the ground long forgotten. He was pinned beneath the paws of a lion, in the grip of a wolf’s jaws, and somehow, he _fit_ there just fine. He leaned back, letting himself fall, knowing he’d be caught and kissed all the more until the entire world disappeared, kowtowing before the force of Yuuri’s affections.

            And _oh_ , how _safe_ and _at home_ he felt in Yuuri’s overwhelming brand of love.


End file.
